


The Notebook

by eyeslikerain



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Castelli Milano notebook, M/M, an ode to nightfall_in_winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26909947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeslikerain/pseuds/eyeslikerain
Summary: „What‘s this?“„I‘m not sure. Stories. Notes. All about – well, us.“
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 15
Kudos: 43





	The Notebook

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nightfall_in_winter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfall_in_winter/gifts).



> My delight that you got the same notebook as Timmy took strange turns. See it as a love letter to yourself!  
> All quotes are from nightfall_in_winter's tumblr and used boldly without permission.

On a bleary and lightless January day, Armie woke to delicious wafts of coffee. He sighed and stretched himself in their tangled bed. Usually, Timmy liked to sleep in. It was a rare treat to be the one enjoying the warm bed some more minutes. Turning on his side, he looked out of the large window of his bedroom: a dim, teal blue sky hung low over the desert. Looked like rain. He didn‘t mind – they had no place to be, not today and not tomorrow. Timmy and he had holed themselves up in his new house at the edge of the desert while the pandemic spread over the globe in a devastating second wave. Better to wait things out here. They were safe and cozy and had everything they needed. 

When he heard light steps on the stairs followed by the eager clicking of Archie‘s nails, he stuffed some cushions into his back and leaned half on the headboard. Shaking Timmy‘s cushion also, the notebook with large baroque flowers fell into his lap. He smiled – he had made so much fun of Timmy when he showed him his newest acquisition. This was a diary for girls. No guy ever would go for those voluptous, opening flowers, spreading their delicate blossoms and revealing about everything in a coy but still obvious way. But Timmy rocked it. Just having returned from space, playing in a remake of an iconic sci-fi, all spaceships and spacesuits and space threats, here he was, the most delicate flower of all, showing the old-fashioned notebook on his IG. And giving the tiny Italian business a boost they never had had in their entire history. Orders trundled in from all over the world. Everyone was suddenly crazy for decadent baroque still lifes. As usual, Armie couldn‘t understand the hype. He had always been a black – moleskine – man, no matter what, and he‘d never change. The collection of notebooks in Timmy‘s New York apartment looked as different, colourful and inconsistent as the rainbow of colours floating from his closet. He never used the same model twice. There were, in the beginning, plain ones, but already in Timmy‘s bold signature jewel tones: peacock blue, turquoise, emerald. The advance of his career, his amplified opportunities to travel, showed in an array of differently bound notebooks. Everything was unique with Timmy, everything had a story of it‘s own. Armie replaced his black notebooks with the next black notebook from his favourite bookstore in L.A. On Timmy‘s shelf, you found marbled paper from Italy, pristine leather form England, light, minimalistic colours with the tiniest patterns from Asia. And now: Italy again. When Armie was finished making fun of Timmy for his choice, Timmy added with a sweet superior smirk that it was designed and fabricated in Bergamo. His meaningful glance, one slightly raised eyebrow silenced Armie. Taking Timmy‘s slender hand, he mumbled: „I see.“ Bergamo would always be a pivotal place of their career. And their personal life. A notebook from Bergamo, tucked into every backpack or carry-on, taken everywhere with the knowledge it came from a place forever special in their memories, was about as sentimental as a wedding band. Armie had checked the website already and pondered which notebook to order next for Timmy. The pink pastel ones would have been perfect for his pink phase a year ago. But Armie knew to wait with his order until the current diary was filled – Timmy‘s sense of fashion and love for colors was vibrant and a lively thing on it‘s own. No predictions were possible.

Faithful to his reputation of bold fashion choices, Timmy surprised him with a rather private outfit: he had wrapped a navajo blanket in terracotta – sunset – colours around his shoulders and tried clumsily to hold it together over his chest while carrying two large mugs of coffee at the same time. Under the blanket, Armie saw a white tanktop – his own, presumably, from the size of it. And, when the throw gaped when Timmy bent forward to hand him one mug – nothing else. Armie smirked:

„I like your outfit.“

„Shut up. Couldn‘t find any underwear.“ Timmy put his own mug on the nightstand, let the blanket pool around his feet and climbed into bed again. Only to get up a second later. Armie, who had been looking forward to his first sip of coffee, was starting to complain about the wobbly mess the bed and their bedding had suddenly become. But rewarded with a view of Timmy‘s milky white, cute butt, he leaned back, enjoyed and, holding his coffee with both hands, tried a first sip. Timmy rummaged around in the pile of clothes on the floor, muttering something about a mess and that Armie was responsible for finding his boxers as he had touched them last before finally appearing on the bed again. He held Armie‘s hoodie like a trophy and tried to shrug into it while climbing up to Armie.

„No, don‘t… Wait“, Armie whispered. He smoothed one sleeve of the oversized jacket back again and caressed Timmy‘s bony shoulder. He let one finger trail the delicate collarbone – how often had this part of Timmy driven him crazy? He never got enough of the fine boned structure underneath the silky, soft skin. And his pulse at the side of his neck, always visible and vibrant due to Timmy‘s slenderness. He leaned in and kissed Timmy‘s clavicle tenderly while reaching under the jacket. „You know I love this spot. Don‘t hide it.“

„I‘m cold.“

„You are cold. In California.“ Armie stated drily.

„It‘s January. In California.“ Timmy said decidedly and hugged the jacket back over his shoulders. Armie sighed, patted Timmy‘s arms and drew him close for a kiss on the mouth. These perfect pink lips! Timmy had so many features driving him crazy. And that was just a small upper proportion of his perfect body. Armie let his tongue swirl delightfully in Timmy‘s warm mouth. Timmy responded in kind, but seemed amused when he asked:

„Didn‘t get enough last night?“

Armie closed his eyes and sighed: „Never.“

Timmy smiled, a little insecure: „Did you like what we did?“

„Like it? You almost killed me!“ He caressed Timmy‘s marble white, svelte thigh with one hand. How come the kid had silky skin everywhere? Timmy seemed to have forgotten that his legs might get cold in January in California. Armie tried to enjoy the beauty in front of him before it was hidden again by blankets and sheets. And sure enough, Timmy shivered and slid under the covers. He made himself comfortable as close to Armie as possible and raised the coffee to his lips.

„I love your coffee. It‘s like you, always a surprise. And an attack.“

„Meaning?“

Armie smirked: „Did you measure it? Or just shake the bag and fill in as much as you got in?“

Timmy shrugged. He leaned on the headboard and looked at Armie, slowly and enamoured as in their first days:

„I was thinking about last night. Couldn‘t think straight.“

„Baby.“ Armie started one more futile attempt to smooth a certain curl of Timmy behind his ear. Only to see it spring back again. He graced the delicate cheek, kissed it slowly and said:

„It‘s a real treat to get coffee in bed. Thanks.“

Archie growled softly in a dream. He had made himself comfortable on his own bed and slept peacefully on his side.

„Don‘t thank me, you do it so often for me!“

„That‘s because you are a prince. Or princess. This was under your pillow.“ Armie handed Timmy the notebook with the explosion of flowers on the cover. Timmy touched the peaches in the left bottom corner and said:

„I meant to show this to you.“

Expecting a new ode to Dutch Baroque artists or the meaning of still lifes, Armie tried:

„You already did?“

„No – oh, that‘s not mine! Mine is here, look?“ Timmy pointed to his nightstand. The same notebook was resting under two paperbacks, distinguishable from the one in bed only by a pen in the small loop fastened at it‘s side. „I got this two days ago in the mail. Brian send some stuff, still from my birthday, you know. And someone send me this.“

He handed Armie the diary.

„Well, hello, your next notebook! That‘s thoughtful.“

Timmy unclasped the strap around the notebook and opened it: „It‘s already full. See?“

Armie‘s gaze fell on neatly and flowingly written pages. He frowned and took the book from Timmy. Leafing through it quickly, he saw that almost all the pages were covered.

„What‘s this?“

„I‘m not sure. Stories. Notes. All about – well, us.“

„Us?“ Armie wrinkled his nose as if in disgust. Timmy shrugged:

„I don‘t know what to make of it. It feels surreal and kind of bad to see that someone is phantasizing about us. And yet…“ Timmy worried his lips.

„Wait“ – Armie took the notebook again – „someone is imagining stories about us?“

„Yeah, but you already know this, don‘t you? This shipping business? Fans want to see us together. They photoshop us in existing photos, want us to marry… that kind of thing.“

„I know, but seeing it handwritten is so – different. It means someone really took time to think and write about us. It seems so – serious.“

„Maybe it‘s just someone with old-world values? Respect for the written word? And beautifully bound diaries?“

„But it‘s kind of creepy they chose your‘s, don‘t you think?“ Armie‘s gaze stopped at one page. He became silent. While reading, the frown on his forehead disappeared and was replaced by an astonished smile. „Now did you see this? „Brows with a mind of their own. One rebellious eye that wants to be greyer than the other. His hair is often so gorgeously unruly it can be described as a brothel for winds.“ This is someone who clearly knows you“, Armie grinned while ruffling Timmy‘s curls. „Sweet lil belly that bulges out with every pasta meal and bagel - adorable. Gym - f**k this, I am an artist!“ Armie laughed loudly when reading the next passage. Timmy grinned also, even more so when he felt a large, warm hand feeling for his stomach under the covers. He sighed and kissed Armies still naked shoulder.

„It‘s weird to read about yourself in this way.“

„Oh no, listen to this“, Armie giggled. „Listen, this is too good: „So let me just casually tuck these beauties here and stab a million hearts at the same time. The impure innocence of timeless beauty by Mr Chalamet, a doctorate in nonchalant seduction…“ Never knew you had a Ph.D in seduction. But you are clearly the expert…“ Timmy wrestled Armie down as good as he could. Panting and laughing, they ended up lying in bed rather than sitting. Timmy took the book and cuddled himself against Armie‘s chest:

„Well, this is the really weird part. Those snippets just about me. But there are actual stories also. I read two or three of them, and they are actually – good?“

„Who wrote this, anyway?“

„No idea. There was no name. Also doesn‘t say anything here in the book. But I‘d say it‘s someone who really can write. Also, seems to be an English native. The style is quite educated and special. Clear but lyrical. Some phrases are pure poetry to me. This is better than some stuff I read in printed books.“

„Really? So it‘s a real labour of love?“

„Sort of, I‘d say. A really special gift.“

„From a loonie. Probably sitting in an attic somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Having no life of their own and phantasizing about ours instead. I think it‘s creepy.“

„You know“ – Timmy pretended not to hear him – „I have a notion it‘s a woman. Though it‘s hard to tell if something is just – you know, perfect. But when I read through it the last days, I had an urge to give her a name. It‘s even weirder to read such intimate observations about yourself when they are anonymous. So, for me, I started to call her „Shakespeare‘s sister“.“

„Shakespeare had a sister?“

Timmy shook his head in mock despair: „That‘s Virginia Woolf. She thinks about the chances Shakespeare‘s sister would have had had she had his talent. It‘s just – because she wants to stay anonymous, you know. But I need a name.“

„You are reading Woolf?“ Armie asked.

„Yes, why not? I have to read something on the plane. Don‘t you?“

Armie shook his head wordlessly and drew the covers over his head in mock shame. Timmy crept up to him, kissed him warmly and messily on the lips and whispered: „Love you anyway.“ Throwing away the bedding and gasping for air, he said:

„By the way, there is also a brilliant piece about the anus. I mean, you know now all about it, as your viral tweet proves, but..." Timmy tried to save himself from Armie's tickling fingers. "The brilliance of your observations was it's poignancy. Hers is a lyrical piece. You almost forget which part of the body she is writing about, it's simply beautiful. And so bold and courageous at the same time." "You are her new biggest fan, aren't you?", Armie smiled. Timmy nodded: "You should read some of these stories also. It‘s strange, but – sort of fun. Some are weird, though.“ Timmy searched for a certain page. „Here, in this one, I can cook! And bake!“ He beamed. Armie grinned:

„The perverted minds of our fans…“

„Speaking of – there are actual sex scenes, but nothing as wild as what we did last night. Or last week, do you still remember?“

„Wait, do you mean… or do you mean…?“ Armie mocked him. 

„Even if those charmies have quite a lot of imagination, we are still a step ahead. Sex-wise.“

„I‘m glad to hear this. But – what about this strange gift now. Are you concerned? Worried? Should Brian look into it?“

„No.“ Timmy chewed on his nether lip, the same lip that had been the subject of numerous exuberant odes he had read in the notebook. „I guess it‘s harmless. And sort of flattering.“

„Well, more than flattering, I‘d say.“ Armie rested his gaze on the neat, grown-up handwriting again. „It‘s a great honour, don‘t you think? I mean, I didn‘t read much, but what I saw about you, I‘d sign in a minute. It‘s someone who really adores you. My beautiful angel. Adored by an equally beautiful soul. Even if she‘s a weirdo.“

„Her name is Shakespeare‘s sister, not weirdo“, Timmy observed.

„All right, my otherworldly prince. Of course a royal highness like you has Shakespeare‘s sister as an admirer and not any mundane fan.“

„Exactly.“ Timmy threw him a regal, pretentious glance. His look relaxed into a grin. Serious again, he said:

„You know, I‘m really touched by this. Sorry to talk about myself all the time, and I‘ll stop presently, but – this is such a high praise and such a gift. To be seen, I mean. Everyone wants to be seen. No–one wants to go unnoticed, right?“

„You‘ll never manage to go unnoticed.“

Timmy rolled his eyes before going on:

„It feels good to be seen as I am. I mean, she‘s exaggerating and embellishing a lot, but still – it‘s like seeing a painting of yourself and realizing you are actually happy with it. This is who you are. And I feel – now I know this sounds strange – immortal somehow. No, immortal is the wrong word. But – part of me will stay here on earth because there are these words.“

„You‘ll stay in your films also.“

„Yes, but – words are different. And just consider all those photos, all those clips – everything is digital today. No-one prints stuff anymore. But who knows if it‘s here to stay? If we always have electricity to look at them? This here“ - Timmy caressed the notebook – „we could read this at candlelight. It‘s here for coming generations. Should they be interested in it. Sorry, I‘m finished talking about me now.“ Timmy kissed Armie affectionately on the lips.

„It‘s all right, sweetie. The pleasures of being the appendix of a living icon…“ Armie grinned.

„You are no appendix! Actually, you are the second leading role in those interesting sex phantasies here, and let me tell you, your bodily assets, mainly the excellence of a certain hammer-like organ of your‘s is much talked about. Not only here, as far as I know…“

„What do you mean? Don‘t tell me you‘ve been reading those abominable fanfictions again?“

Timmy tried an enigmatic look but couldn‘t hide a satisfied smile. He flipped through the pages, looking for a certain story, and said:

„Here we go. How about you read this one to me? Now?“ Timmy handed him the book and made himself comfortable on Armie‘s stomach. Slowly caressing his naked thigh and resting his hand there, he said: 

„I love reading about you. And your eyes. And your magnificent cock. And the end is something we could actually try… If you should be in the mood...“


End file.
